


Swan Dive

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical peril, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Napoleon’s goose is about to be cooked, but not if Illya has anything to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Dive

Napoleon winced as his return to consciousness was accompanied by an aching head, pained wrists, and sore arms. The last thing he remembered was searching a THRUSH-owned ship for their latest weapon with his partner, Illya (who was combatting his seasickness with ginger, seasickness pills, and a band around the pressure point on his wrist). They had both gone after a THRUSH grunt they had recognized, and Napoleon had a vague memory of a crushing blow to his shoulders.

Napoleon forced his eyes open now, blinking as he saw nothing but a vast expanse of sea beneath him, reaching out as far as he could see, the currents maintaining a steady flow. An attempt to call out to Illya ended with Napoleon realizing that he was gagged with a cloth tied around his mouth.

Napoleon turned his head now—and froze as he realized where he was. He could see the metal sheet of the boat, painted silver—and he could see his arm tied to one of the flukes of an anchor. A quick look to the other side showed him that his other arm was also tied to the other anchor fluke.

Napoleon was just starting to consider how unpleasant his current situation was when it suddenly got tenfold worse; there was a clanking sound, and the anchor chain began to lower. Napoleon struggled vainly against the ropes binding him to the anchor flukes, but to no avail—the ocean beneath him was getting closer and closer.

The threat of drowning made him continue to struggle. If he could just free one hand—just one—he could free the other easily and climb back up the anchor chain, or, at the very least, stay above the surface of the water. But whoever had tied these knots had done their work with precision; no amount of struggling was even so much as loosening the bonds.

Napoleon was not a man to panic, but he could feel his heartrate increasing as the anchor continued to lower. First, his feet entered the water, and then his legs, then his waist and chest; Napoleon threw his head back to give himself a few extra seconds of oxygen, and that was when he saw Illya peering over the railing of the ship. Illya was already pale from combatting his seasickness; the Russian’s complexion went even paler as he saw what was happening to his partner.

Napoleon’s eyes widened as he saw Illya yank off his turtleneck and throw it aside; suddenly, he knew exactly what his partner was planning.

He attempted to let out a muffled plea for Illya not to risk it, but he might as well have tried to stop the tides; Illya had clambered onto the railing, and, the next moment, had executed a graceful swan dive into the water.

Illya surfaced a moment later, a knife in hand, and began to cut away at the ropes tying Napoleon to the anchor flukes. They both held their breath as Napoleon went under and Illya followed to continue cutting the ropes. He succeeded freeing one arm, and then but the ropes on the other arm as Napoleon removed the gag from around his mouth.

Another moment later, Napoleon was free, and Illya helped him to the surface; the Russian looked as though he was in a bit of a daze as he looked up and realized just how high his dive had been.

“ _What_ were you thinking?” Napoleon asked, between gulps of air. “You could have been knocked out from that dive!”

“You would have preferred that I had done nothing?” Illya asked, now holding onto his head. He slipped under the surface of the water for a second, and Napoleon pulled him back up, frantically.

“Of course not!” the American said. “But look at you!” 

“I shall be fine,” Illya insisted. “…Well, as fine as I can be for being flotsam left adrift in the Pacific.”

“I guess that makes me the jetsam,” Napoleon mused, managing a wry smile. “And here we are now.”

Illya gave him a look, but returned the smile.

“It certainly is a better option than what they were planning for me; they were ready to keel-haul me had I not managed to slip away,” the Russian intoned. “Your fate didn’t seem much better, either.”

“It certainly wasn’t,” Napoleon agreed. Nevertheless, he scowled at the water surrounding him. “We have two options now—either attempt to use that anchor chain and get back aboard that ship of killers, or try to stay afloat out here and see if we can get help of some kind.”

“I do not know about help,” Illya sighed. “But I see a promising number of seagulls in the sky; we cannot be too far from shore if such large numbers of shorebirds are visible to us from here.”

Napoleon sighed.

“Well, THRUSH thinks I’m dead, so we might as well go on letting them think that and make it to shore ourselves—watching out for sharks, of course.”

“Statistically speaking, THRUSH is the greater danger,” Illya pointed out. “But I took precautions to make sure we have the best possible chance.”

He stared pointedly at a lifeboat drifting nearby.

“I set that loose before I went looking for you; I had no intentions of staying around to get keel-hauled, so I had planned to leave the moment I found you.”

“Then, it’s settled,” Napoleon said, and he looked back at his partner once as they clambered into the lifeboat. “Illya… thank you. Looks like I owe you another one.”

“You and I have no debts between us, Napoleon,” Illya insisted, with a smile, as he followed. “Now let’s leave before THRUSH finds out that you’re not as dead as they would hope.”

“I wonder how greatly exaggerated the reports of my death will be…” Napoleon mused, as they headed towards the shorebirds while ducking down as much as possible to avoid being seen by anyone on board the ship.

“Don’t worry; once we make it to shore, I will come up with a lovely eulogy for you,” Illya deadpanned.

Despite their current unpleasant situation, that got a laugh out of Napoleon, who continued to remain in surprisingly good spirits as they soon came across the shoreline, safe—for the moment, at least.


End file.
